


Falling Forward

by SansyFresh



Series: Fresh's Babble Collection [44]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Gen, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Hurt No Comfort, Portugal's history, Vomiting, graphic depictions of injuries, or well, p is a poor boy, very little comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 15:17:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17246534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SansyFresh/pseuds/SansyFresh
Summary: He was going to die, and there was nothing he could do.





	Falling Forward

**Author's Note:**

> For armada ^^
> 
> Pay attention to the tags on this one, guys

 

It hurt. It hurt in his soul, hurt in the recesses of his skull, ached and burned and he was sure the marrow was still dripping down from the new crack in his head as he ran. He could feel the marrow as it trickled down his face, burning as it ran into his socket, as it went into his mouth and he gagged, spitting it out with a green tongue,  _ wrong color wrong fucking change it change it- _

 

The sound of shuffling snow somewhere behind him made him scuffle back to his feet, even as his fingers bit into the palms of his hands, the burning pain in his skull worsening as he tried to change his magic, tried desperately to get it back to red, only for something to snap further in his skull, his magic fizzling out to near dangerous levels as he yelped. 

 

Slapping his hands over his mouth, he slid down the base of a tree trunk, tears streaming down his face as he listened to the creaks of the branches around him. It was silent, other than the wind and the occasional snow that fell with a plop to the floor below. Taking deep, calming breaths, he tried to get his mind back together, but the fear was making it damn near impossible. 

 

He knew Sans was somewhere in these woods, with the dogs hot on his tail, trying to sniff him out by the scent of his marrow. He knew if he stayed in one place too long they’d find him, and Sans would likely kill him this time. Sans would be so angry, so so angry with him for running away after a punishment.

 

The reminder of his new face made the wound burn ever more, his expression cringing as he lifted a hand, gingerly touching the new cracks with the tips of his fingers. It hurt, it hurt so much, and not just because he was still bleeding out and likely would continue to until he either got healed or dusted… it wasn’t likely he would finish out the day as a fully intact skeleton.

 

The memory of his brother standing over him, blunted bone dripping with marrow in one hand and a scowl of disapproval on his face, burned along with the pain of his new cracks in the back of his mind. It made him nauseas to remember that the reason he was in this mess in the first place was because his magic had gone the wrong color. He was hyper aware of it now, the cool green nothing like the oppressive red it should have been. 

 

There was the sound of something, something far off in the distance, and it sounded enough like a dog’s bark that he clambered back to his feet, using the tree to pull himself up and then to steady himself as his head rushed with spent magic and loss of marrow. 

 

Nearly falling over, he carefully stood against the tree until another noise, one slightly closer sounded and he made himself move. He could no longer run, his legs trembling underneath of him as he made himself trod through the forest, one arm hanging limply as the mana lines to it went weak with the effort to keep his body in one piece. There was yet another noise, this one sounding far too much like his brother barking an order for him to not break into a loping run, tears streaming down his face as he sobbed in fear. 

 

He would kill him this time. With his magic still that awful, sickening color, the disobedience would not be overlooked. He would break his bones, pull out his teeth, shatter his joints until he couldn’t scream anymore, and then he would dust him. It would be a slow death, a horrible death, and no one would save him.

 

Heaving, he pulled himself from tree to tree, the forest so thick through these backwoods that there were plenty to lean on as he finally stopped, throwing up what little breakfast he’d managed that morning. Bile rose in his throat as he dry heaved, the action making his arms feel like limp pin pricks of pain, his head straining against the action, the crack above his eye burning like never before, so much pain, voices behind him, surrounding him, the victorious voice of his brother, his eyes shut, pain making his mind blackout, until finally.

 

There was nothing.

 

And then… there was something? A soft light, pure emerald green and so much more beautiful than his own dingy, awful color. It moved over him in waves, making him feel as if he was floating, his limbs numb and tingling as it touched them. It stung, just for a moment as it kissed his cracked skull, then there was a sweet nothing, just pure blissful nothingness. In fact, he couldn’t feel any of the pain that had been there before, just a faint ache of where it had once been.

 

His sockets crinkled, squinting open to fully see the magic being used on him, and for a moment he felt briefly unaware as a face that looked like his own smiled back at him, the thing soft… comforting? It looked unmarred, no scars, no sharpened fangs, the sockets warm and inviting. He wanted to reach out and touch the face, study it. Ask why it looked so similar to his own, and yet so, so different.

 

And then a second face popped into view, this one also familiar, but in the opposite way he needed. It was Sans. Sans staring down at him in worry, no fangs, no red magic, just soft white eyelights and a tired grin. 

 

They were asking him something, looked faintly worried about something or other that he couldn’t comprehend in that moment, but the only thing he could think was that somehow, Sans had found him. Sans had him, him and this look a like that looked as if he’d never seen a fight in his life.

 

He was going to die.

**Author's Note:**

> After this is when P kinda goes off the deep end of doing his own thing and getting other people to beat him up. He very much believes he should be dead, and the fact that he isn't is also his fault.


End file.
